


Heart Assassin

by 98tuffluv



Series: Heart Assassin [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Assassination, Assassinstuck, Drug Dealing, I promise, M/M, NO SMUT IN THIS ONE KIDDIES, THERE WILL BE IN THE SERIES, not sorry, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/98tuffluv/pseuds/98tuffluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider isn't exactly your average teenage boy, considering he's a world class assassin. However, when he's framed for the death of a public government official, he's hauled in by the F.B.I, and in order to escape jail must assassinate Jake English; heir to a large drug dynasty run by Lord English. Considering it to be no big deal, Dirk runs headfirst into a mission that he most definitely wasn't prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The dimly lit office, located in the center of the F.B.I headquarters, was, quite honestly, boring. Especially for a teenager such as the one sitting in a hard wooden back chair. Silver cuffs glinted in the small bit of light coming from the bare light-bulb that was hanging from the ceiling. In all truth, it was pretty weird to see a light-bulb without a covering in a government building such as the one he was in. One would think that they'd take more pride in their employee's offices, but, evidently, they didn't.

That was no concern to the teen. What was a concern was how the hell he was going to get out of there and how the hell he was going to keep out of there. No one could guarantee what was going to happen to him, seeing as he bit of a lengthy list of past mistakes trailing behind him with every step. In fact, one could say that once he died he would be dragging a very lengthy ball and chain.

Of course, the teen in the chair would likely take pride in his masterfully crafted length of work. It was only in his nature to enjoy everything he created as he was an inventor at heart. Naturally, that wasn't all he was, or else he wouldn't have been sitting in the office. Well, unless one were to assume that he had developed some sort of bomb or other horrifying device to cause harm to humanity or the planet Earth, but that was not the reason for his being where he was.

The abrupt sound of the heavy metal door behind behind him opening, caused the teen's head to turn, but his gaze was concealed by triangular sunglasses, which likely didn't help him distinguish the large figure walking towards him as the light in the room was barely there as it was. Heavy footsteps moved behind the oak-wood desk that he was seated in front of and the muscular agent dropped into his chair, swiveling it for a moment as he took in the boy before moving to open a drawer in his desk.

Tense silence had settled, but the rustling of papers lightly broke it until the agent sat up, and dropped a thick manilla folder on his desk. Tenderly, as though he didn't want to do damage to the folder or the contents, he gripped the top half of it, and let it fall open so that he could look through it.

A single piece of paper was plucked from the top, and the agent leaned back in his chair as he shut the folder, staring at the printed words that he held carefully near his face, “Dirk Strider, am I correct?”

The man's voice was gruff and harsh on Dirk's ears, but he nodded, sitting back in the chair with an air of nonchalance, “Yeah, that's me, the one and only.”

“It's doubtful you're the only person in the world with that name.” the agent reminded him, “Only sixteen years old and you're already an alleged assassin and thief. In other words, you're a very wanted criminal.”

“Hey, I'm a wanted guy in general,” Dirk said, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “can't help that everyone wants my fine ass.”

“Mr. Strider this is not the place for your...foolish games,” the officer shook his head, setting the paper down, which allowed Dirk to catch a glimpse of his name-tag.

“Well Equius,” he began, sitting up to look at the agent. He hadn't realized before, but the other occupant of the room was wearing a pair of cracked sunglasses. He didn't know why, but he found it fairly funny, “I've been playing this game for a very long time. I mean, it's taken you guys this long to catch me, how long's it gonna take before I slip right between your fingers?”

Equius' mouth twitched into a frown, “You will address me as Mr. Zahhak and we are taking precautions to ensure that nothing such as you escaping occurs. The F.B.I is not keen to lost their grasp on you so easily since you have managed to evade us in the manner that you have.”

“Tell that to someone who gives a fuck,” he rolled his eyes.

The agent coughed, eyebrows furrowing together, “You are behaving like a foolish teen who does not understand the consequences of his actions. Your mannerisms and actions have landed you in a very serious situation, Mr. Strider.”

“And yet no one's seemed to care up until recently after I slit that guy's throat in England. But what would federal agents want with someone who has worked outside of America?” he raised an eyebrow.

“We do not believe that to be the last...crime that you have committed,” Equius explained, opening the folder to push another paper towards him, “We weren't concerned with foreign affairs, but when someone strikes us at home,” he tapped the white sheet, “we involve ourselves.”

Dirk frowned, leaning forward to look at the paper. It was a summary report of the murder of...”You think I fucking murdered those two whack-jobs that became the president? You guys really are out of it if you think I'd involve myself with something like that. I don't kill high-authority officials, sorry to burst your bubble.

“Plus, this isn't even my style of killing,” he sat back again, giving an innocent shrug.

Agent Zahhak raised a thick eyebrow over the cracked shades that were perched on his nose, “Your style?”

“Yeah, my style. Open your ears, deaf one,” he crossed his legs, continuing to act as though he weren't being held at a federal headquarters, “That's not how I kill.”

“Then please explain how you 'kill'.”

Dirk found it almost comical that the guy was asking, “Seriously? You're holding me here for all of my crimes and you don't even see a pattern? You guys really are slacking in the observation department, Sherlock would smack you all upside the head.”

Equius frowned, not finding Dirk's comment amusing in the slightest, “Again, this is not the time for jokes Mr. Strider.”

“Right, I'm so sorry for failing to be utterly formal as I'm handcuffed and stuffed into some shitty office,” he drawled, then sighed, sitting up a bit, “I kill quick and easy, a slit to the throat usually. I don't cut people up and let them bleed to death like this guy, even I have some sort of morality.”

“Either way Mr. Strider, there are no other suspects, and you are the only recorded assassin of this level of skill that is even remotely close to this area,” the agent explained, tucking the paper back away in the folder, “Of course, this isn't the only thing you can be charged with. The list of your crimes is enough to land you, your children, your children's children, and ongoing down for nearly five generations in a federal prison.”

That startled him and fear was obvious despite his attempt to mask it, “Federal prison? You're not serious, right? I'm fucking sixteen years old, you can't send me to a federal prison!”

“With charges such as this it can be arranged,” Equius replied flatly, then held up a hand to keep Dirk from speaking anymore to protest, “However,” he waited for Dirk to shut his mouth before continuing, “The bureau has been having some issues and we're willing to trade you your freedom for a completion of a mission.”

Dirk's mouth twisted in a smirk, “Oh how the tables have turned. The F.B.I's hiring out assassins now, huh? Little bit different than the average protocol isn't it?”

“This case is...different. None of our agents have been able to succeed and we've lost too many to continue sending them in. Naturally, we assumed that we would be unable to do anything, but then we ran across you and we assumed that putting your talent forward rather than extending another agent into the assignment would be...much more beneficial,” he explained.

The smirk smell and he look unamused, “Right. So you stick some random kid's neck on the line instead.”

“Even if you weren't a child we would-”

“No need to continue. I'll take the job...what is the job?” he asked, wanting to know what it was that the F.B.I was having so much difficulty with.

Equius simply opened the folder once more, pulling a small section out of it that he slid over to Dirk for examination, “We are working on taking down an intricate network of drug dealers. We've annihilated nearly any heir to this particular dynasty, but there are still a few left. 

“Your target is Jake English, son of the man who calls himself “Lord English”, previously Dr. Scratch. You're objective is to kill Jake to ensure that there is no living heir to the English line.”

Dirk scooted himself forward once again and looked at the paper, taking it in. There was a clear picture of Jake in the left corner as well as a lengthy list of locations he's commonly seen at, the address of his residence, and other important things. Shame he had to kill him, he was pretty good looking, sharp green eyes, somewhat unruly dark hair, nice jaw...

Equius coughed, causing Dirk to jump a little as he realized he'd probably stared at the picture a little too long for comfort, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I kill this...Jake kid, you guys let me go Scott free and I pretend like I'm going to do better for myself.”

“That...is basically the answer we were expecting,” he shook his head, standing up, and walking over to Dirk, producing a key as he undid the cuffs, “You're to report back here once the job is complete. You have three months total before we come looking for you. If that happens, even if the job has been finished, you will be thrown into a cell, is that clear?”

“Exceedingly,” Dirk rubbed his wrists, picking up the file before his eyes flicked up towards Equius, “So. Where do I start?”


	2. Return Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk confronts Jake for the first time

Dirk soon found himself 'briefed' (again) on his assignment, sitting in a colorless office (but hey, the light-bulb was covered), and listening to some jack-ass tell him (again) what he was supposed to be doing while out on the mission. It wasn't like he hadn't just heard the whole shpeel just a few minutes ago in Zahhak's office, but...whatever. It didn't matter, he could stand to go through it one more time if it meant that he could get out of there without adding another stain to his ledger (not that it was very clean to begin with).

After a short while of pretending to listen, he was allowed to leave, and soon he was walking out the doors. They'd given him plane tickets to get to where Jake was located; Houston, Texas (he remembered due to the fact that the one debriefing him only mentioned the location twenty-seven times [Dirk knew, he counted]) and so he was driven to the airport as his flight left within a short amount of time. It didn't take long before they dumped his ass on the curb, leaving him with only his bag of...essentials (which included [but wasn't limited to]: his sword [unbreakable+bad-ass=Dirk's sword], a multitude of knives, tracking devices, smoke bombs, etc.).

Thankfully, those essentials passed through security with flying colors once he gave them a handy-dandy note from the F.B.I. At that he was essentially treated like royalty, walking down the red carpet to be crowned prince of his adoring airport security fans. Apparently they were under the impression that he was some sort of big-shot agent. Oh man, what a laugh.

Fortunately he was soon on the plane and heading to Houston. He didn't mind Texas too much...except that it was hot, the people were assholes, and...well he had some unresolved ties to a few family members (of course, that's not going to be explained right here. Why the fuck should it? Calm your damn horses man, they're stomping up a shit-storm). Oh, and their fucked up version of a road-system. God only knew how many times he got fucked over attempting to maneuver his way through that shit.

Other than that it was fine. Unfortunately, he was traveling back there over summer, it was a campaign year, and he had no where else to go but home. Fate had evidently decided to gift him a big pile of 'fuck you' presented forth on two giant middle fingers while the gift was shoved up a horse's ass and drizzled with cow piss for good measure.

The flight took several hours, which he used to catch some sleep. It had been days since he'd got a wink of rest since his most recent job had involved picking off a couple of crooks for some lady who had a bone to pick with them. He didn't really care about the motives though, they were interesting at first, but they all just snowballed into one giant monstrosity of repetition so he stopped asking and they stopped telling.

Luckily for Dirk, a flight attendant was nice enough to wake him to remind him to fasten his seat-belt before he wound up getting thrown up with his head smashed against the top of the plane as they began their decent. He thanked her gruffly, buckling himself in before glancing out the window to watch as they dropped lower and lower towards the airport terminal.

About half-an-hour and a lot of elbow pushing and annoyed huffs tossed in his direction, Dirk walked out of the airport, bag slung over his shoulder as he took a moment to adjust to the abruptly humid and heat filled air. Ah, yes, wonderful Texas. How he didn't miss it.

Sighing, he began walking. Seeing as he didn't have much cash on him, he decided against calling over a cab. Besides, the airport wasn't that far from home, and he wanted to avoid the gruesome family reunion that was to come for as long as he possibly could. It wasn't something he was eagerly looking forward too. Not to say that he didn't love and care about his family (hell, he helped support them if they need it) but he'd left about two years prior to pursue his choice of career without so much as a word of 'good-bye'.

About an hour of walking later and he found himself at the lobby of the apartment building. He walked in and...fuck, of course the elevator was busted in that shit-hole, when wasn't it broken? Dirk shifted the weight of his bag again, beginning the lengthy walk up the stairs. Maybe it was a good thing though, it just put the space of time between him encountering his brothers that much farther into the future.

Unfortunately, that kind of thing couldn't last forever, and he found himself standing in front of the apartment door. Taking a quick breath, he knocked twice, and listened the clang of something metallic and a loud exclamation of 'shit!' before quick footsteps came to the door.

“Fucking hell, we already said we don't want any of your fucking tempting girl-scout cookies now fuck off-” 

Dirk looked at his younger brother, rubbing the back of his neck as their eyes met despite the blockade of their shades in the way, “Hey Dave-ow! Motherfucker, what the hell!?” he exclaimed as a sharp punch to his gut nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“You god damn bastard! You just had to hop up on your high pony and trot the fuck out of here on your rainbow of death and ditch us like selfish asshole you are and then you just show up out of the blue and expect some sort of happy reunion? Wow Dirk! You totally fucking left us hanging to go pursue your art of slaughteri-”

Dirk clapped a hand over Dave's mouth, sighing a bit, “Yeah, yeah, save it. I'm sure Bro'll chew my ass out bad enough later. Look, I just need a place to crash for a few days, and then I'll be gone. I got a job near here and my money's spread thin. And don't say that I left you guys hanging, I've been sending back as much as I can to help. It's not like I'm just going to kick-drop you guys off of a cliff laughing like a god damn maniac while I do.”

Dave huffed against the palm pressing over his mouth and he pushed his hand away, straightening up as he crossed his arms, “What makes you think we're going to let you stay here in the first place? You left Dirk and leaving kind of suggests 'I don't want to come back here!'.”

“Dave, believe me, I know. I don't want to be back here, as great as it is to see your ugly mug again, I'm not exactly thrilled to be back,” he frowned, “If I had somewhere else to go I'd be there in a heartbeat, but I don't. So just...please at least let me in for a bit? If Bro comes back and throws my ass out on the streets then so be it, I pretty much deserve it anyways, but I just really need somewhere to stay until I get my next stack of cash sent in.”

The youngest Strider eyed him warily, but finally caved, and opened the door to let him in, “Fine, but if Bro kicks my ass for this you won't be the only murderer in the family.”

Dirk smiled a bit and stepped inside, setting his bag down before hugging Dave which quickly turned into a fierce rubbing of his fist against Dave's skull, “I'm an assassin jack-ass, there's a big difference.”

“Dirk, fuck off!” Dave squirmed until he was released and he quickly fixed his messed up hair, frowning as he shut the door. He was quiet for a moment, leaning against the door with his arms still pressed over his chest, “It's good to see you again though.”

“Good to see you too Dave. Looks like you finally grew a bit. Getting some muscle on that skinny-ass body of your's,” he noted, looking his brother up and down.

It'd been two years since the two had laid eyes on each other and both had changed; Dave had gotten taller, he was still skinny, but he had some more tone to his body. Dirk had gotten taller as well, but he was a bit bulkier than Dave (not by much though). Dirk was still taller, just barely, and he had a feeling that Dave would wind up catching up to him soon enough if not surpassing him.

The two didn't have much longer to attempt to interact before there was a key twisting in the door and Dave quickly scurried aside as it was pushed open.

The eldest Strider stood in the doorway, staring at Dirk before looking between the two other Striders in front of him. Bro frowned, slowly pulling the key out of the doorway, a bag held loosely in his hands that likely held Lil Cal inside, “The fuck are you doin' here?”

“I was hoping you could-”

“I don't even wanna hear it from ya. Get the hell out before I kick your ass to the street myself.”

“Bro come on-” Dave started, but he was quickly cut off by Bro.

“Nah. He made his choice and he chose to leave.”

Dirk spoke up then, “Bro, just hear me out. I know I'm not your favorite person in the world right now, but I just need a place to crash for a few nights and then I'll be out of your hair. Consider it payback for the money I've sent.”

Bro frowned a bit, working his jaw as though trying to decide what to say, “...Fine, but only for a maximum of a week.”

“Thanks Bro, I'll pay you ba-”

Bro held up a hand, “I don't care. I don't even wanna know you're here, got it?”

Dirk nodded slowly, picking up his bag, “Got it,” he agreed, turning away from him as he quickly walked away, heading into his old room and plopping his bag on the empty bed. He sighed a bit, sitting down on the edge of the neatly made bed; it was going to be a long week.


	3. Obligations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk gets ready to find Jake, meanwhile the unsuspecting English reminisces over his life, unaware of the silent stalker following him.

Thankfully, Dirk really didn't have to spend too much time at the apartment. Sure, he hung with Dave for a bit, catching up, but he did have a job to do. He'd spent a little time going over the folder that had been relinquished to him, flipping through the sterile, stiff white pages until they were crinkled from use. He had to learn everything about Jake that he could from the file before he went out and he managed to memorize everything, word-for-word, the next morning by eight a.m.

After that, it was a matter of tracking the other male, learning his movements, his likes, his hobbies, anything that could help Dirk best him when it came down to it. That was the main thing that got him out of the cramped space of the apartment complex (he still didn't know why Bro insisted on living there when he'd made plenty of money off of his explicit “puppet” business [more than enough to cover the down-payment on a nicer apartment, if not a castle]) Still, he had to sleep, but he had enough money to eat out, and he did like seeing Dave again, so he planned to hang out with him some more once Bro was out of the apartment for a while.

He'd worry about all of that later though. For the time being, he needed to organize his thoughts onto the project at hand lest he find himself being hunted down by the U.S government for failure to do so. Despite his cocky position towards the matter he did not want to wind up in a federal prison on charges of assassination. Yeah, he was an assassin, and, yeah, it was likely that he'd killed the majority of the people that they listed, but he was not keen to be thrown in the penitentiary for that.

Sighing softly, the spiky-haired blond slid the manila folder into the long pocket of his jacket, sealing the concealed pocket before heading into the bathroom. He quickly freshened up, finishing up by perching his shades on the bridge of his nose. A quick glance-over and he felt sure that he looked good enough. He wasn't too casual, not too classy, just the right mix to make him blend in...minus the triangular shades, but it was a hot day in Texas, a lot of people would be wearing sunglasses.

Sliding his right arm through the arm of the jacket, he followed with his left, and checked to make sure one of his custom, collapsible swords was tucked in the pocket. With the assurance that it was, he peeked out the door. There was no sign of Bro and Dave was still snoozing in bed (he likely would be until two o'clock rolled around and his bladder and need for apple juice woke him up) so he was in the clear. 

Taking light, careful steps, he maneuvered his way out of the bedroom, and twisted the brass knob of the wooden door to shut it as quietly as possible. Once that was finished, breakfast was grabbed (made up of two pieces of bread and a stolen bottle of apple juice), and the front door shut quietly behind the silent assassin. Stepping into the hall, Dirk took his time casually strolling down to the lobby. Nodding his head to the security guard out front, he moved into the blaring sunlight that momentarily silhouetted his figure, but he was quick to move away, leaving only the brief moment of darkness behind him before the light shined through the windows once more.

==> Be Jake English

Jake English, first-born (and only) son of the infamous Lord English. The last of kin, the sole heir to the large drug dynasty that his father owned and ran efficiently. From the day he was born he was prepped for the role, everything he needed to know was jammed into his brain, but sometimes he was a little slow to catch on. Still, he was an effective fighter, and had wonderful aim (so long as he had his glasses on) with the twin pistols that he kept holstered to his thighs at all times. It was a dangerous life he led, many had tried to kill him since he was young, which made his father paranoid.

Jake could still recall one of the assaults very vividly. He'd been about four years old, still a little tyke, and he was playing with one of the plastic guns gifted to him. His room was filled with toys, most of them resembling weapons (a few were weapons, but he didn't know that). The small boy's bed was pushed up against the far wall, the jungle-green comforter lightly brushing the light-tan carpet as Jake blissfully played on the window-seat of the large bay window next to him.

“Gun-shots” came from the boy as he pretended to shoot invisible bad-guys that danced around the room. In his mind, they were very real, and he took them very seriously as he remained stationary in his seat, only moving to adjust his aim or push up the glasses on his face that were still a little too big. He was smiling, happy to be allowed some free-time for once to do what he wanted, and he was using his alone time to his advantage. Everything was going perfectly...until the window abruptly shattered and three men hurried into the room.

Engrained instinct had made Jake roll off of the window-seat when the glass broke, arms flinging up over his face to keep it from getting hit with the shards of glass. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to protect him. One of the men grabbed him roughly by the hair, yanking him up as he screamed and sobbed, tears falling down his face in pain and fear. He was trembling violently, pleading with the men not to kill him as the barrel of a gun was aimed directly at him. Meanwhile, he was pinned in place, unable to move as he struggled, screaming for help.

Luck finally struck as the door banged open. The massive figure of his father strode into the room and Jake was dropped. He'd pulled himself into a corner of the room, sniffling, and wiping hurriedly at his tears as blood poured from the gashes from where the glass had hit. He whimpered and looked away as one by one the men fell, their necks snapped, causing their heads to bend at odd angles. 

The young toddler slowly looked up at the towering man that had killed them, remaining curled up in a tight ball as he was picked up by his father. Jake fit comfortably in the crook of his arm and he winced at his father's fingers poked around in the cuts on his arms, legs, and back. Someone else entered the room, murmuring worriedly under their breath as they took Jake from Lord English. He was a little more comfortable in her arms as she spoke softly to him, hushing him before setting him on the bed. His father exited as she produced a medical kit, talking to him gently as she picked out the glass and got the deeper cuts stitched and bandaged.

“Thank you Calliope,” his voice was hoarse from screaming so loud and she smiled softly, kissing his forehead as she instructed him to rest and sleep. It had been a long night...

After that attack, Jake had body-guards assigned to him at all times (excluding restroom breaks and when he was in the presence of Lord English himself). Thankfully, the commander of the dynasty had a hefty army to pick from, and his hand-picked favorites were naturally the first choice. Crowbar was the one most often accompanying Jake, so long as he wasn't rounding up the rest of the Felt. Various others did as well, which was rather annoying when he thought about it. So, he just stopped thinking about it.

That was easy enough to do with everything else he had going on his life. Which was nothing. So it really wasn't that easy to forget seeing as he couldn't do anything without it being a long process that took months of preparation. Due to that, Jake was often cooped up in the lime-green manor that housed all of his body-guards. It wasn't the most boring place, there was plenty to do, but that grew old once one had done all of those things multiple times for the past sixteen years.

Of course, that wasn't entirely important at the moment as Jake sunk another cue ball into the far right, corner pocket of the billiards table. He yawned, setting the cue-stick down as emerald green eyes flicked one of the multiple clocks that resided with him in the manor. 12:25 p.m according to the one he was looking at and he confirmed it by another clock with a grin. Finally! One of the few days he was allowed out on the town had arrived.

Crowbar was waiting for him outside, holding his trusty...well, crowbar in his hands. The two exchanged a nod and Jake was somewhat relieved that it was just Crowbar accompanying him. They reached the front entryway of the house and Jake slid on his shoes, waiting for Crowbar to do the same. Once that was done, they walked to the family car, and he slid into the backseat, looking out the window excitedly as the car was started up and they drove out.

The drive wasn't too horrible, just awkwardly silent, but that didn't matter as Crowbar parked and the young English sprang out of the vehicle, putting his hands on his hips as he looked around approvingly, “This area should do quite fantastically Crowbar! What's on the agenda for today?” Jake asked.

Crowbar said the boss (Jake's father) had planned a lunch for them right off the bat and that Jake could take a look around in some stores until six. He also added Jake's boundaries and, once they were acknowledged, they went off once more, unaware of the concealed amber eyes following them as they walked.

==>Be Dirk

He didn't look like his picture, Dirk that to himself as Jake stepped out of the car. No, he was much more appealing in person and Dirk sincerely wished that he wasn't homosexual. Still, avoid life in prison or love at first sight? It was pretty obvious which one he was going to pick and he pushed aside the nagging lovey-dovey thoughts that were plaguing his mind. He shook them off just in time to notice Jake and the tall fellow with a crowbar (not so discreetly) hidden in his back pocket. The blond straightened from where he'd been leaning against a wall and slipped into the crowd behind them.

It didn't take long to arrive at the restaurant that they were obviously attending. Of course, it was high-rate and the table had been reserved two weeks in advance, but a chunk of change was enough to “persuade” some of the staff to get him a table next to the guy in the green suit and the kid in the khaki shorts (normally Dirk didn't care for khakis, but they worked for the English kid...)

Dammit Strider. He cursed himself silently, taking his seat as he casually opened a menu, pretending to actually be interested in the over-priced dishes that barely counted as a serving size. Despite having acquired his own fortune, Dirk just didn't understand how anyone could pay twenty bucks for a ham and cheese sandwich. Hell, not even a full sandwich, just one of those half triangles if someone was lucky. If not, well, welcome to finger food hell.

He settled on the cheapest, most appetizing thing he could find, stating that he'd stick with water and don't even bother asking about dessert. The menu was taken off of the table and Dirk took the chance to covertly watch Jake. Part of him felt like a stalker and the other part reminded that part that he was pretty much assigned to stalk and kill this guy so shut the fuck up. God he had issues...

Jake had ordered his food, the crowbar guy didn't get anything, just sipped at the water. Body-guards, Dirk scoffed to himself, rolling his eyes as he briefly tore his eyes from the wonderful eye-candy before him to glance around the restaurant. It was nice, not that he was exactly familiar with that type of thing. He was more experienced in holing up in the slums, eating cheap fast-food, taking it day by day. The whole fancy restaurant thing wasn't up his alley so to speak.

The place was built beautifully. It was sea themed with a cream color accenting the 'froth' of the swirly blue waves. Carved marble fish accentuated every corner and a large water fountain in the main entrance portrayed several mermaids and fish casually spitting water into a gigantic bowl. The trim was gorgeous as well with little conch shaped swirls indented into the soft white borders. Add to it that the ceiling was an entire mural of Poseidon's palace and Dirk would have given the place five stars. Maybe he'd get on Yelp later.

By the time Dirk was finished looking around, Jake was “making” conversation between his guard who only grunted in reply and seemed more annoyed than amused. The blond assumed it was because he got stuck with baby-sitting, but that was just an assumption. Besides, Jake didn't seem too bad. Sure, he was a little talkative, but he didn't appear to be over bearing like his companion was making it out to be.

Jake eventually stopped talking, excusing himself to the restroom as he stood and moved quickly there. Dirk paused for a second, taking his time to sip at his drink before standing to go follow him into the restroom. It could wind up being a very interesting encounter if Dirk played his cards right.

After all, how hard could it be to catch an English?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet's been out for a little while, but I've only gotten this chapter done, sorry guys. Shit's been crazy. Anyways, enjoy, and feel free to leave your criticisms, complaints, and likes in the comments!


	4. Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk confronts Jake in the bathroom...things don't go according to plan.

Apparently it was very hard.

 

Dirk was no fool. He knew that Jake was allowed restroom time without any guard coming with him. Of course, he wasn't entirely aware the the heir to the English "throne" was completely capable of handling himself. It would seem obvious to figure that Jake wouldn't just be some silly goose with no idea what he was doing considering he hefted around very dangerous weaponry everywhere he went, but Dirk had evidently decided to ignore that in favor of believing that this would be an easy kill. After all, how hard could it be to kill a goofball who loved stupid movies and the outdoors? 

 

The bathrooms were nice at least, pale white-washed walls with dark black tiles filled in with pale glue to hold them in place. The sea theme carried through, but only minimally. Of course, the towels on the ebony marble counters were folded to look like sea shells and the trim was molded to follow the same concept. Jake was standing at the urinal (he wasn't nearly as modest as Dirk would have assumed. Then again, growing up in a household with only a handful of silent, grunting henchmen to watch over you probably led to a lack of normal social concepts. Plus, plenty of guys pissed at the urinals...he was looking way to much into this). Dirk just went to the sinks, acting as though he only needed to wash his hands. He'd be doing a lot of that in a second...after he finished off Jake.

 

He finished up, rinsing off the last of the suds before drying his hands. His feet carried him to turn around and he was greeted with the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead, a dapper looking Jake smiling at him at the end of it, "Well chap, I say you've given a good run, but you're not the most discreet one that I've dealt with over the years. Did you honestly believe that you'd be able to simply waltz in here after me and finish your job? At least disguise yourself properly, come on."

 

And here Dirk thought that his leather jacket, skinny jeans, and black converse were a perfect disguise, "Excuse me princess, but I haven't got a clue as to what you're talking about. Can't a guy just come into the bathroom to wash the grubby germs of commoners off his hands?"

 

"Wash off the grubby germs of the commoners?" Jake laughed, holding his stomach with his free hand, "Oh please, you act as though I don't know who you are or what you do. Tell me, who's sent you? Hm, Strider? I'm sure I can work it out so that father will pay you more than you are receiving now. Unless of course you'd rather I just shoot you. I suppose that would make it easier on dear old dad, but what's the fun in simply blowing out the brains of a top assassin? We'd likely have use for your skills, I'm sure your attempt to target me could be swept under a thick rug if you'll simply agree to our terms and-"

 

Jake was cut off with a cry of pain as Dirk abruptly brought his leg up and smashed it into Jake's arms. He didn't take ten years of gymnastics for nothing and he wasn't about to go down at the end of a gun. It was almost laughable that Jake thought putting a pistol to his head would be enough to take him down. As if. He was one of the best assassins known to man for a reason. It wasn't as if getting held at gun point was an uncommon thing in his line of work and he'd learned quickly to disarm and take down anyone that dared to say they were going to stick a bullet in his skull or some variation of the phrase.

 

Before Jake could so much as move, Dirk had the pistol picked up and aimed at him, "Sorry English, but the deal I'm working for isn't worth any amount of money that your miserable excuse for a father could hand over. In fact, I'm pretty sure that there isn't anything he could offer that would make me change my course of action. I  _never_  give up on a target until the job is done.

 

"Also, you might want to make sure that the safety's off and that you  _actually_   know who you're dealing with," Dirk flicked off the safety to enunciate his point and steadied his aim at Jake, "Any last words before you're the one with your brains splattered all over this nice tile?"

 

It was almost pathetic staring down at the frightened, wide-eyed boy who was stammering out apologies and pleas, "No, no! You can't turn a man's gun back against him it's not fair! Come now Strider, surely there's some way to convince you to not go through with it!" Jake stopped after that, glancing over Dirk's shoulder with an abrupt smirk, "About damned time. I've been making such a ruckus in here and you hadn't even bothered to come check on me! Honestly, father is going to hear about this!"

 

Dirk only heard about half of that before a crowbar was smashed down onto his head. Stars flickered about his vision that was ebbed in black before his knees crumpled and he slid to the ground with a groan. He wasn't quite unconscious, but his ears were ringing, and the room was swimming around him. God damn, that guy could really land a hit. And he landed another one that was genuinely strong enough to make the infamous assassin's eyes fall shut as he passed out on the floor of the men's bathroom.

 

==> Be Jake

 

The look on Dirk's face when he got hit over the head was absolutely priceless. Still, it should have come a lot sooner seeing as Jake had been practically screaming and pleading for his life. _Unfortunately_ , a certain body guard had been neglecting his duty. Boy oh boy was Crow going to get himself thrown in a deep pit when his father found out what had happened. Of course, he did still save Jake's life, and he managed to help them nab one of the most dangerous people on the planet. Regardless, Jake knew that his safety should have been top priority...he just hoped it didn't mean that his bathroom privileges were going to be revoked.

 

"I hope you know that father will know of your failure to immediately come to my rescue. And don't play dumb, I know very well that you've got top notch hearing my metal-fond friend," Jake patted Crowbar's back before kneeling down next to Dirk, patting him down, and removing several knives before he was satisfied that he would be harmless, "Pick him up. Let's see what father wants done with him. I sincerely hope he takes kindly to the fellow. He could be a very useful asset," Jake had yanked his wallet as well and smirked a bit at the family picture that resided within it, "And I think I know the perfect way to tempt him. A man will do just about anything to keep his familial members safe."

 

Jake folded the wallet back up and slid it into the pocket of his shorts, watching as Crowbar scooped Dirk up. They walked out of the bathroom and Jake dropped the money they owed, plus a little extra for tip, on the table. Of course, he didn't really have to pay. Father was good at making sure the local businesses catered to their every will. If they refused they were taken down and no one wanted that. But, Jake was a man of honor, and, despite the business being ridiculously overpriced, he refused to let good service go without notice. Naturally, due to their bribed state, no one said anything as the unconscious man was taken from the building. Everyone knew who Jake was, who Crowbar was, and what could happen if they dared to try to rat on them. The police were stacked with men who worked under his father and government influence was promptly warded off by the exceedingly powerful drug lord.

 

The heir to the dynasty glanced the slumped blonde head and he patted the top of his head, "Don't worry chap, we'll take right good care of you."

 

Naturally, Dirk's unconscious state rendered him unable to hear such words, but, had he been alert, he probably wouldn't have been appreciative of the sentiment anyways. After all, he'd never been taken down before (the government jailing didn't count in his mind). Needless to say, he always did have a back-up plan. Whether or not that plan worked was a question that would plague his mind from the second he woke up with Jake standing in front of him, a bright light shining in his face, and shiny pair of cuffs around his wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this has been taking so long, but life is a pain in the ass, and getting up the will to actually write something is an even bigger pain in the ass.


	5. You're in Some Deep Shit Boy

==> Go back to being Dirk

 

Why the fuck would you want to do that? Why would you want to be the guy tied up in some shitty ass wooden chair with splinters decorating his wrist like he's a fucking pine tree? Why would you want to be the poor dick that had the biggest migraine he'd ever experienced in his life (that's saying something after years of living with his family)? What in the ever-loving fuck could you possibly gain from being the unconscious douche? Why not be the charming Brit? I mean, it's just a suggestion but...

 

==> Tell the author to fuck off and be Dirk anyways

 

Alright, alright. Jeez. Rude.

 

==> Dirk: Wake up

 

The pounding head of one Dirk Strider was definitely not assisting him in any way, shape, or form. He couldn't think, could barely manage to move any part of his body (not that it mattered anyways, he was pretty much wrapped in cold, harsh chains from head to toe), and, to top his shit filled sundae off with a pissed on cherry, his head hurt like hell. It felt as though the construction crew got pissed off and decided to say "fuck it" before utterly smashing down the work they had made. Bulldozers, wrecking balls, jackhammers, and every other piece of stereotypical construction equipment were being chucked at the backside of his skull. Literally chucked, not like, slamming into the back of his head, oh no, his construction workers were beefcakes with a side of country gravy and they were throwing all that shit. Picking it up like it were a little newborn baby and hurling it like a god damn discus. Dirk wasn't sure why he'd decided to make the workers of his brain so inherently tough, but...well. He actually did know the exact reason that he did that, but like hell would he admit it to anyone.

 

Regardless of that annoying thing, Dirk remained resilient, and forced his eyes to open, even if only briefly. In all honesty, it was a dumb move seeing as it caught the attention of none other than...Jake English. Ah yes, the scrawny brat that cried wolf and got Dirk bashed over the head with a crowbar of all things. Just to be a dick, Jake moved a brightly shining lamp into his face which made Dirk cringe as the construction workers did not appreciate the sudden increase of sunlight that was fucking with their aim. The blond groaned a bit before he managed to get his eyes back open, ignoring the shouts of his ginormous work-force.  He needed to figure out where he was and how the hell he could get out of the situation he was in, but that was mildly difficult when he had no way of doing so.

 

"Glad to see that you're finally awake chap. Hope you don't mind the light, I simply thought it would add some more drama to the whole scene, but I was worried that those heavy lids of your's would remain sealed tighter than the temple of doom!" Jake seemed to think himself funny. Dirk simply cringed at the shitty reference to some sort of movie that he had probably never seen, because, let's be honest, what sort of assassin has time or desire to watch some over-rated Hollywood film...not to mention that Dirk had a bit of a grudge against Hollywood, but the author won't be explaining that until later, because the author is a giant douche sometimes.

 

"Don't worry, my eye-lids were only a little harder to open than a really stubborn pickle jar," Dirk said dryly...almost literally. His throat felt like it had just drained the Dead Sea and then munched on the Sahara on top of it. It was not a pleasant feeling and he wanted to request to have that remedied, but he decided against getting poisoned....or drugged. 

 

Jake, of course, didn't seem to notice his prisoner's lack of fluids...either that or he didn't care. Probably the former if Dirk had to go and take a guess.  The tan-skinned male may have been exceedingly attractive, but Dirk held no doubt in his mind that Jake was not blessed with exceeding intelligence like Dirk himself had been. Then again, Jake probably didn't need to be exceptionally intelligent in order to become the figurehead of a huge drug organization (despite the fact that Dirk felt that Jake could never really assume the position comfortably...maybe that was just a blind hope), "Well, as you can see you've been locked down until the date of your um...parting of this world. I thought that I might give you a bit of company for a week or two depending on when father returns from Mexico. He had to go deal with some things relating to the business, but he likely won't be back for a while so lucky old you! You get to live for a few more weeks. If he were here you likely would have been killed on the spot, but-"

 

"Can we just agree to not discuss the manner of my impending doom? I'd rather keep the details of my excruciating execution to a minimum and that doesn't mean I want to know about all the other guys that sat in this chair before me," Dirk stared at Jake until he shut his mouth and he got a small bit of satisfaction from being able to shut the darker-haired boy up, "Thanks. Actually, never mind. I revoke my thanks. Your skinny ass is going to get me killed and that is not going to end well for a lot of fucking people."

 

The other seemed slightly curious at his last statement and he raised a thick eyebrow over the rim of his glasses, "Oh? And how is that? I'm sure that no one, excepting the people that sent you, is going to be affected by your departure. You'll be nothing more than a withdrawal from their bank-statements by the time you pass on."

 

Ouch. "Ouch bro, that was a low blow. But, for your information, even assassins have people that care," he regretted what he said the second the words slipped out of his mouth, but Jake seemed somewhat pleased, "Not that...that necessarily applies to me..."

 

"Thank you for that information mate. We might wind up keeping you alive after all," Jake grinned, pinching Dirk's cheek before flicking off the light, and heading to the door, "I'll bid you farewell for now Dirk. Don't worry though, we're only going to figure out who is so precious to you, and then I'll return. Toodaloo!" he waved and shut the door, leaving Dirk in the creeping darkness. He swallowed, gripping his hands tightly behind him. Shit.

 

Shit shit shit shit  _ **shit.**_ He was going to be in so much shit if Bro had to fight off the cronies of some random drug lord. Not to mention actually packing up and leaving the apartment. They'd lived in that place since Bro was younger. Like hell was going to be completely fine and dandy with getting uprooted because his kid brother couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut. Dirk could only get away with so much, being an assassin was a bit of an issue, but it brought in the cash, but putting the entire family in danger with his shit? That was a whole other story and he was definitely going to get an earful of it the next time that he saw Bro. **  
**

 

Assuming that he saw him or Dave ever again.

 

That thought in itself was upsetting, sending an ache through his chest of an emotion that he couldn't really describe. He had no idea what he was going to do about it, but, for the time being, he just needed to take deep breaths, and work on sliding out of the chains. How hard could it be?

 

Apparently really fucking hard. God, can't anything involving Jake just be simple aside from English himself?


	6. What Did You Think Was Going to Happen?

Blood rose to his cheeks as the sharp stinging rendered his cheek somewhat numb. Who'd have thought that tiny little English could bitch slap hard enough to leave him feeling as though he'd just had plastic surgery on his face while conscious. Dirk had definitely never considered it possible, yet here he was, getting the shit hit out of him because he couldn't keep his trap shut about Jake's "twink-like face and prime rear-end". It's not as though he could help it, the time for sass, and sarcasm was nigh, especially to cover up the fact that he had no idea how he was going to get out of the mess that he was in. Of course, he hadn't expected Jake to react like his did, his cheeks flushed, and eyes wide as he froze for a second before loudly cursing, "God bless it! Those damned cheek-bones of your's nearly sliced my palm in half!" The sad thing was, Dirk wouldn't have been surprised if it actually had.

 

"I could get to splitting something else in half if you catch my drift," the extra eyebrow-waggle didn't help anything as Jake's fist connected with the side of his face. His head snapped to the side, some of his hair falling from the perfect style it had been in to tickle his eyebrows. A small grin spread across his face as he straightened himself back up, meeting Jake's eyes directly as his shades had been plucked off of his face some time ago, "Aw, Jake, did that get you flustered? You look cute with a little bit of color in your cheeks-" another punch, followed by a drawn out length of cursing and made up bull-fuckery that the vocabularically gifted man managed to come up with.

 

Jake shook his hand out, grumbling a bit as he took a few steps away from Dirk, seeming to take a moment to himself in order to calm down. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. I-Inhale, exhale. Eventually, the loud breathing stopped, and Jake turned back around to face the cuffed assassin, "Alright Strider, enough of this tomfuckery. Another one of those blasted comments of your's and I'll rain hell down upon those damned brother's of your's."

 

Oh, right. Bro and Dave were sort of in danger due to Dirk's lack of wit and inability to hold his loose tongue. Dirk figured that they could both handle themselves, but still, he didn't want to wind up getting his ass kicked by a bunch of drug lord cronies and then have Bro's foot up his ass as well. With that in mind, he felt a little more tempted to stop making cat-calls and objectifying comments towards Jake. Of course, there were other things he could do just to piss the other off, but he'd save that for later.

 

"Okay, fine, jeez. You've found my Achilles heel, my kryptonite, the weak-spot in my bullet-proof vest which basically means you just shot me in the leg because why the fuck would you shoot a vest if you knew it was there," the words just kept pouring from his mouth and it was a genuine shock to him that Jake wasn't just slapping some duct tape over his flapping trap. He would have if it were him, but he wasn't Jake, and he was the one stuck to a chair rambling for the sake of rambling because he had nothing better to do while hoping that his slight lapse in control would earn him even the slightest scrap of pity that he could use to get himself out of the situation he'd gotten shoved into.

 

"I'm well aware of that, would you hush already?" Jake seemed only mildly annoyed-maybe amused?-by his run-away train of mouth blabber, "Honestly, it's not as though I'm going to ask much of you. Father has seen the work that you've done, I have as well, and I believe that you could be of use to us. Naturally, if you decline this offer you'll be executed and your brothers will be hounded to the end of your days, but, out of the kindness of my heart, I will allow you to make the final decision."

 

Dirk scoffed, rolling his eyes, "You really think I've got that much attachment to my family?"-he totally did-"As if. My brothers are assholes, I pay for rent so that they'll stay off my ass. I'm a free man English, you can fuck with my family all you want, but it isn't going to make much a difference."

 

The brunette paused, seeming to think for a moment before his abruptly grabbed Dirk's chin in his hand, forcing the blonde to look him in the eyes as he hummed as though in deep thought, "Quite the odd extremity of eye color you've got there Strider. It's exotic and somewhat intriguing."

 

The intensity of Jake's emerald gaze made Dirk somewhat flustered, even if he wouldn't admit it, and he cleared his throat as he attempted to snap out of it, "Oh yeah?" was the most majestic response he could think of, which seemed to please Jake as a soft thumb brushed along Dirk's jawline.

 

"Indeed, many things about you are different Dirk," the sound of something scraping against the floor echoed through the room as Jake took a seat in front of Dirk, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "Not many would peg you for an infamous killer, yet here you are. You stick out like a sore thumb and yet you've managed to hide yourself better than any fool I've ever met before. That's quite an accomplishment if I dare to say so."

 

"Well...thanks," Dirk wasn't sure what to say. He was confused to say the least. One second Jake was beating the shit out of him and the next he was-"You know, if you think schmoozing me is going to get you what you want then you've got another thing coming," Dirk let his gaze turn icy as his lips twitched down into a slight frown. God, he couldn't believe he'd been letting Jake play him like that, tugging on his strings to make him dance and sing. Of course, Dirk wasn't about to let Jake become a dominating puppet master in his lifetime should he be able to help it.

 

Jake seemed a bit put off by Dirk's realization and he puffed out his cheeks, eyes narrowing. Dirk couldn't help but think that he looked like a toddler who had been told that he couldn't have ice cream for dinner, "Who says I was attempting anything of the sort? I was merely making some observational notes about your character Dirk, don't read too far into that lest you find yourself in the middle of the wrong book."

 

"You know, the one way to a man isn't through his heart. As much as I love having my egotistical soul stroked, I'd much rather have you stroking something else," and back to the lewd jokes. Those he could handle and toss out without too much thought. Not to mention it was rather satisfying to see Jake's expression turn from offended to pissy to flustered and embarrassed.

 

Still, that wasn't enough to get Jake riled up enough, so he calmly stood, and patted Dirk patronizingly on the head, "There there old boy, simmer down for a moment while I grab a bite to eat. I'll finish up before I come to check in on you and I expect to have an answer to my previously stated question."

 

"I'll be sure to mule and think about it over and over again while I agonizingly wait for your return," he shifted his hands behind his back a bit, listening as Jake's footsteps retreated before the door squeaked open, and Jake departed, the sound of the door slamming the only confirmation that he had genuinely left. Dirk allowed himself to breath a slight sigh of relief, standing up, and shaking his hands out as he rubbed the red marks that the chains had left on his wrists, "Thanks for being oblivious English." He muttered to himself, moving over to the heavy door, and opening it. He stuck his head out, looking around before slipping out, and rushing up the stairs.

 

Now to find his way out of the mansion...


	7. Breakaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of Dirk's past and the great escape!

The white, tiled linoleum tapped lightly under his feet as he rushed from corner to corner, doing his best to stay out of sight. For the most part, the mansion seemed to be abandoned, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he tiptoed farther into the building. Weird, right? Why would you go farther into the hell hole that you had just been tortured and forcibly dragged into? The simple answer was that he needed to get his shades back. It wasn't as though he could just wander down the streets without them covering the bright orange eyes that he was born with. They were a tragedy that he just couldn't fix, but, then again, his brothers had the same issues. 

In reality, Bro didn't need them. His eyes were a dark enough orange to pass for brown. Dave, on the other hand, had brilliantly red eyes. They were shocking, like Dirk's, and were a much more vibrant color than their deceased older brother's who had rust-colored irises. Dirk had always found it funny that they appeared to have the lighter tones of their brother's eyes, but the oldest Strider had always assured him that his and Dave's eyes would darken one day to a more acceptable color. 

That had never happened and Dirk had never been able to rub that fact into his brother's face.

In fact, walking through the mansion shot him back to that night. The night that his brother was assassinated.

Dirk said that he couldn't remember much, but, in reality, every detail was as clear as day. He could still smell the musky, sweet smell of the spaghetti being cooked downstairs as it mixed with the heavenly garlic bread. He could still see the black tiled floors, the maroon tinted walls, the ebony base boards that were cleaned to the point of shining. He could still hear the chattering of the people below him, each of them bickering about something or another. Dirk had never bothered to sort through that conversation, he really just didn't care too. He had been too concerned with finding his brother.

Small, pudgy hands ran along the smooth surface of the walls as he walked, looking up to admire the extravagant lights hanging from the ceiling. He knew that his brother was loaded, but he didn't know that he'd made enough money to allow him to hole up inside a mansion for a few weeks at a time while he was in California (he always said that the apartment and Texas was more of a home to him). Of course, that was what happened when you were a famous Hollywood director. 

Not that his brother squandered all of his money on self indulgent things. Most of it actually went back to the community and towards the next cluster-fuck of films that would earn him another stack of cash to shove back into the pockets of his employees and various charities. He was a great guy after all, but not everyone necessarily loved him. Primarily, the government.

That was why Dirk so vehemently hated the government and why he was disposed to working for them. In his eye, they were corrupt and greedy and he wanted nothing more than to see the entire system collapse in on itself. After all, they had been the major hand in plotting his brother's untimely demise. Dirk hadn't known that at first, but over the first year that he mourned he uncovered the secret, and that alone turned his heart to a heavy stone that cracked for nothing.

It was only to be suspected that his brother would eventually wind up mysteriously killed. His propaganda had gotten more extravagant over the years of his film making. What was once subtle hints towards what the government was doing turned into blatant political statements that left audiences reeling. Rumors began to spread and it became clear that he had gone one step too far.

That step sent him tripping and spiraling down into a horrible conspiracy that end with a coffin and the first tear that second oldest Strider had shed since their mother had passed on four years prior after a laborious birth process that resulted in Dave. 

Of course, walking through the cozy mansion, Dirk had no idea what was going on. To him, it was just an ordinary day. He was going to go pester his brother until he was given permission to fiddle with the new gaming systems. Or he'd get lucky and he'd get an orange soda before he received an invitation to kick it and chill with the oldest Strider for a few hours while they watched a movie. He clenched his eyes tight, crossing his fingers as he stopped in front of the engraved, mahogany door that led to the other's office.

Finally, he stood on tiptoe, and twisted the knob in his hand. The door slid open silently and Dirk stepped, smiling at the taller man who sat in a stiff, leather seat. Despite the unappealing look of the chair, the older managed to make it look comfortable and a small smirk tugged at his lips as he sat up to greet Dirk.

“Hey, what're ya doin' here-” there was an abrupt cut off as glass shattered and the oldest Strider gasped as he fell to the floor, clutching his crimson stained side.

Dirk let out an exclamation as a second shot rang and the six year old screamed as a bullet pierced the wall next to him. Meanwhile, his brother was coughing violently on the glass splattered floor as he tried to say something, but was stopped by the gurgling in his throat. His hands clutched at the floor and the spikey-haired boy stood helplessly to the side as he watched his brother bleed out onto the floor.

Pain sang through his arm as he realized that a third bullet had ripped through the air, sinking into the flesh of his arm. He sobbed as he scrambled into the corner, away from the window, clutching his arm as tears streamed down his face. Pleading cries for help echoed through the mansion, but no more shots came as people finally came flooding into the room. Things started to go blurry as multitudes of feet and concerned voices surrounded him and obscured his view of his dying brother.

Abruptly, he shoved past the legs, sinking down next to his brother with no care for the glass that was digging into his legs and opening up new wounds. His lip wobbled as he pressed his face into the chest of the other before he went into full shut down. A few more salty tears dripped down his cheeks before he froze up, clutching the blood stained suit as though it were his life-line.

It only took a few minutes for hands to carefully pry his off of the fabric and he was laid down on a gurney, shaking violently as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Waves of emotions crashed over him, but he had become numb to the situation. He barely realized that he was in the back of an ambulance with worried people rushing around trying to make sure that he was okay. Well, physically okay. Mentally he would never be the same.

Dirk remained stiff and vacant for nearly a week after the incident. No coaxing from Bro or Dave could get him to react until they mentioned the funeral. That got him to blink and look towards the anxious faces of his waiting family. Dave was first to notice and sprung up from where he was sitting to climb onto the bed with Dirk, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck as he murmured broken apologies. Bro lifted up his hat, brushing his fingers through his hair before he took Dirk's hand gently in his own, “Good to see ya alive again kid.”

His eyes brimmed with tears again and he moved for the first time in ages to wrap his arms tightly around Dave as his emotions emptied themselves out onto the sterile sheets below him. It was still incomprehensible to think about what had happened, but it felt good to have Dave and Bro there with him. Still, the hole that the oldest Strider had left burned deep, and was only made more obvious as the three remaining brothers stood around the coffin solemnly, clutching tightly to one another as Bro quickly brushed away any tears. Dirk knew that he didn't want to look weak so he never said anything to Dave and shrugged it off, looking down at the ground as he decided to follow Bro's lead.

He blinked away the last few tears, swallowed the lump in his throat, and made a silent vow to himself to find whoever had done this to his brother.

Well, he did find them, but it wasn't exactly easy to topple an entire government by himself. So, he'd resorted to ridding the world of people involved in politics. Finding people willing to pay to have some random Senator assassinated was easy enough and after the first few times he'd managed to become nearly invisible. No one caught him, no one knew what he looked like, and his clients knew better than to try to turn him in. It wouldn't end well for them to say that very least.

And yet, there he was. Sneaking through the manor of a well-known drug-lord while trying to locate the dark triangles that he wore on his face. All because of some stupid government ploy to rid themselves of a small thorn and to rub it in his face that they truly held all the power in his life. They knew who he was, they knew what he'd done, and they could blackmail him to the end of the earth. He may have acted cocky around Jake, but he would do anything for his family, and that was obvious considering he kept them as far from the spotlight as possible.

Shaking his head, he pushed away the horrific memories, sneaking around a corner. God damn, how many rooms could one mansion have? This was fucking ridiculous!

Rounding a corner a little too fast, he abruptly stumbled back as he bumped directly into someone. Oh great, Jake's little body-guard. The dude with the crowbar. Fuckin'-A.

“Shit sticks,” he muttered, turning tail, and fleeing. He could always just order a new pair of shades. He hated splurging money on that (he'd put most of it away for another purpose) but it was only a couple of dollars and he had a lot saved up and invested. 

Regardless of his financial security, his ass was still running like hell from the man that he'd just run into. Now it was just a matter of finding the god damn doorway. Stupid, elusive doorways. Why couldn't they just magically appear like the wardrobe from Narnia or some shit? 

“What the hell-?” was all the warning he got before he rammed face first into none other than Jake English, “How in the criminey did you break out of those manacles? Crowbar for hell's sake we need to work on your cardio mate!”

Dirk's head spun for a second, but he was on his feet again in a flash, “Sorry English, but I'm not one for being tied up. As kinky as that is, I'll have to pass. Unless you're willing to switch sides,” he winked before darting behind Jake, and shoving him into Crowbar.

“Strider!” he heard the yell of anger as he made it to the doorway and bolted outside. His feet pounded on the ground underneath him as he made his getaway. Scaling the gate was easy enough and he dropped down onto the asphalt, taking off again as he prayed to God that Bro wasn't about to kick his ass for the stunt he'd just pulled.


	8. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down.

“I should be kickin' your stupid ass to China for the shit that you just did!” Bro's angry voice continued to rant through the house as he shouted and snapped at the poker-faced Dirk that stood before him, “Ya put this entire god damn family in danger ya li'l shit! I let ya do your shit, but if you're gonna get the rest of us caught up in then stay the fuck away from us. Now, because of you, we have to pack up and leave this fucking place.”

 

Dirk cleared his throat, “To be fair, it wasn't that great of a place to begin with. I mean, yeah, you and-” he stopped, shaking his head, “You changed our diapers and shit here, whoop-dee-fucking-doo. It's really not all that special anymore. Plus, it's cramped, old, and smells worse than New York's city dump. Besides, once this whole thing blows over we can move back in and it'll be fine.”

 

That was a blatant lie and Bro obvious knew it, the scowl on his face deepening, “Ya know damn well that that ain't gonna happen. You're just sayin' that to save your scrawny ass,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and he shook his head, “God dammit...Dave are you fuckin' packed up yet or what? It won't be too long before we have some private militia beatin' down our door.”

 

“Chill Bro, I have to make sure all the A.J is packed and secure. Don't want those villainous dicks getting into my preciouses,” Dave dragged out a suitcase, doing an embarrassing impersonation of Gollum as he did so which resulted in a groan from both Dirk and Bro, “What? C'mon, it wasn't that bad guys.”

 

“Dave just shut up and let's go get in the fuckin' car,” Bro muttered bitterly, slipping his infamous sword into it's sheath on his back. Taking the brass doorknob in his hand, he twisted it, and opened the door to a red-cheeked Jake English.

 

All three of them immediately went on the defensive, swords out, and shades glinting dramatically under the lighting. Jake swallowed and slowly raised up both of his hands, “I er...surrender? I'm waving the white banner just...don't chop that into shreds if you'd be so kind,” he winced, seeming to shrink back.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here Jake?” Dirk asked, slowly starting to lower his weapon while Dave and Bro reluctantly did the same. The swords remained out in plain sight, but they weren't in such a dangerous position any longer.

 

His eyes flicked to glance over Dirk's shoulder and he smiled, “Ambushing you,” was the simple retort before the windows crashed open and several men in green suits ran into the room, brandishing guns, “naturally.”

 

All three Striders immediately formed a protective circle, standing with their swords facing outwards towards the potential threats, “Looks like he brought a nice little going away party,” Dave muttered before his image suddenly flickered and one of the men fell with a sword through the gut. The youngest brother slid it out calmly as Dirk and Bro did the same thing, flashing around the room with ease until all but one of the men were laying on the ground dead or dying.

 

The final one was the Crowbar dude and Dirk was more than happy to flash behind him and jab a sword through his throat, “That's for knocking me out you douche,” he snapped, yanking the sword out roughly, and kneeling down to wipe off the blood with the crumpled fabric of his suit jacket. A dark stain was smeared across the whole thing and he huffed, looking back towards the doorway, but Jake was already gone.

Dirk gritted his teeth, clenching the handle of his sword before a pained noise caught his attention. He looked towards it, moving forward just in time to catch Dave, who was clutching his stomach, and sucking in deep and staggered breaths, “F-fuck. I'm fine, let go Dirk.” he shoved meekly at the older's hands, but Dirk held tight, and pulled him over to the futon, forcing him to lay down as he ripped off Dave's shirt, “Dirk dammit!” Dave cursed, trying (and failing) to cover the bullet wound that was embedded into his left side.

 

The wad that was Dave's shirt became crumpled as Dirk's hand clutched it, his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in a long time, he froze, paralyzed to the spot as he looked at the bleeding wound, horrific flashbacks dancing across the back of his eyelids like a torturous ballet on repeat.

 

“Dammit Dirk, get outta the way if ya ain't gonna help!” Bro shoved him aside and Dirk fell back, barely catching himself as he was snapped back to a swimming reality. He took shallow breaths as he moved back against the wall, bracing himself against it as he tried to regain control over himself. It seemed as though his mind had other ideas as thoughts and images flashed through his head faster than he could comprehend before they finally meshed together into one giant mass of gray sludge that presented one single image.

 

It wasn't Dave lying on the couch, but his brother lying dead on the floor of the mansion office. He curled up into a tight ball, shaking as he rested his head in his hands with a soft whimper as he tried to reason with himself. No, it wasn't him, it was Dave and Dave would be fine. The wound wasn't that bad. Oh god, what if he died? What if it caused internal bleeding and he lost another member of his family?

 

A sharp smack across his face got his attention and his head shot up to look up at the shadowed figure that was Bro, “I'm taking Dave to the hospital. Get the rest of this shit out of here and to whatever hotel would be the least obvious for us to stay in. Ya can find yourself somewhere else to stay, but until this shit is done I don't want ya near us.”

 

The venom in Bro's voice was obvious and Dirk winced at the sharp pang of guilt that he felt stabbing into his very soul, “I...okay,” he felt almost numb, but he was still shaking, his eyes drifting towards Dave's form that was still on the couch. He didn't blame Bro for being pissed or for wanting Dirk to stay away. It was his fault that Dave got hurt, it would be his fault if his family got killed because he dragged them into this.

 

Other things were said, but he had receded back into himself by that point, and didn't even pay attention as the door opened and shut before he was left alone with his thoughts. He let out a shaky breath after a minute, slowly beginning to recollect himself as he stood up. He avoided looking around the room, just grabbed all of the bags, and left the apartment as quickly as possible. It seemed like he was moving through time as though it were jello, but soon enough he driving to a hotel that was somewhat close to the hospital that he figured Bro had taken Dave too. He paid for a room for two weeks, dropped the bags off, and left.

 

He left a short note in Dave's bag, apologizing for what had happened before he left, and headed back the way that he'd come. It took about an hour, but soon enough he was parking a block away from the English manor, “Alright Jake. Let's finish this.” a twist of his wrist caused the car to shut down and he got out, sword drawn with a gun hanging in his other hand for good measure.

 

It was time for him to finish out his mission.

 


	9. Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's not the epic show-down between Dirk and Jake. That'll be part of the next and final chapter in this part of the series.

It was as though he were reliving the events from nearly a decade ago. One of his boys was laying in a hospital bed surrounded by bulky, loud machines with a bunch of tubes and wires sticking out of him. At least this time he knew that this one would wake up. Still, it made his stomach churn to think that it had ever wound up coming to this. Maybe he'd been a bit too harsh on Dirk, but the kid had been an idiot, and now Dave was paying for that mistake. Bro had taught him better and he had the interests of the rest of the family to worry about too. He still cared about Dirk, but he couldn't put himself and the youngest Strider in danger because of some job that the kid had gotten caught up in. Part of him wished that the kid had just stuck to his own devices instead of coming home for the mission. Then again, it was nice to see him again since visits were few and far between with such a demanding job.

 

Bro sighed a bit, lifting the brim of his hat up to scratch as the mess of blond hair underneath. He was exhausted and the hospital wouldn't allow him to keep his shades on so the bags under his eyes were becoming more obvious. Thankfully, Dave had been sleeping for quite a while, and Bro would be able to hide the unbecoming sign that he was lacking in the snooze department with some shitty makeup that he was about to bum off of the nurse that was walking into the room. Couldn't have Dave getting all worried about him, it would shatter the god-like image that the kid still held him to.

 

A few passing words with the nurse and he had a thing of concealer in his hand. He walked into the men's bathroom, ignoring some of the weird (and slightly offended) looks that he got as he started applying the makeup. It wasn't as though he wanted to wear the shit, but he didn't need anyone telling him that he couldn't hide the purple skin underneath a layer of skin-colored cover up. Normally, he'd just ignore it, but he still had a lot of pride about him, and he wasn't about to walk around like that all willy-nilly.

 

By the time he got back from the bathroom, Dave was starting to wake up. Bro plopped down on the couch, slipping the concealer between the cushions as he got into a relaxed position and looked out the window, acting as though he had never left. Meanwhile, the younger's face contorted into an expression of pain as he groaned a bit and started to move his hand to grab at his side. In a flash, Bro's hand was wrapped around Dave's wrist, setting it back next to the kid's side as Dave shot an annoyed look up at the older brother.

 

“Don't wanna knock the I.V outta your arm kid,” Bro raised his eyebrows up, causing Dave's ruby-red eyes flick away as he directed his teenage pissiness somewhere else, “plus you'll wind up rippin' the stitches if ya rub at 'em. So keep your hands to your sides at all times and enjoy the ride. Except ya aren't gonna move and ya get to lay here and watch shitty TV until the doc says you're clear to skedaddle on outta here.”

 

“What are you, sixty? No one says skedaddle anymore Bro.” Dave's eyes rolled so far back it was almost demon-like as the whites of his eyes were exposed, “Catch up on some modern lingo and then call back once cell-phones are invented in your time you old geezer.”

 

Bro kept his face straight, but he nearly allowed a smile to creep onto his features. Dave was getting better at his shit-talking, but he couldn't compete with an experienced master like Bro. Not by a long shot, “Ya know, you're lucky you've got a bullet wound or your ass would be gettin' kicked off the roof right about now.” Ah yes, perfect rebuttal. Ten points to Bro.

 

“You're the one getting stuck with the spider web of hospital bills Bro, not me so have at it. I don't mind spending a little while in a body cast. It'll be nice to have you waiting on my ass for once,” Dave smirked a bit, seeming proud of his retort.

 

“Oh yeah? I'd like to see how well ya fair in a strife when ya haven't had practice in a few months. We'll have to start from the ground up. Baby-steps. Wonder how good of a boomerang ya are now. It's been a while since I got to chuck a kid off the roof,” Bro set his voice into a tone of complete seriousness that made Dave unsure in how to reply.

 

“You threw me off the roof as a baby? Damn, call C.P.S this shit's fucked up,” he said after a moment, but the words were strained and forced and Bro knew that he had won this battle (counting up all of the battles, he had won several wars, and may as well have conquered the planet) .

 

Bro lightly punched Dave's arm, “Ah, shut up ya li'l shit. Ya wouldn't call C.P.S on me. 'Sides, ya practically threw yourself off that roof before it freaked ya out and ya wound up clingin' to my head like Lil Cal when Adam Sandler shows up on TV.”

 

Dave winced a bit, rubbing the spot where Bro punched him, “Jesus Bro, the hospital is probably not the best place to do this shit. Just saying, it might take you on a one way trip to 'go straight to jail'. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two-hundred dollars and get out of jail free cards are void for three turns.”

 

“Three turns is a bit extreme, don't ya think? I'll just barter with the jailer. I roll doubles and I'm out. I role anything else and I beat the shit out of the jailer and get out anyways. It's a win-win situation and I don't have to waste my get out of jail free card on some douchebag who thinks he can lock me up for somethin' that happened-how old are ya now? Sixteen?-fifteen years ago.”

 

“Wow Bro, you remember my age. It's a miracle, the Alzheimer's is fading!” Dave proclaimed dramatically before he fell back against the hospital pillows, laughing to himself.

 

Bro refrained from smiling, flicking through TV channels with the remote instead, “Damn these channels suck. Where's all the good things? Everything on here is golf, golf, and other stupid sports like golf. This is bullshit. Where's the manager of this place? I don't give a shit if I have to pay for it, I want some decent television.”

 

“Chill Bro, you're going the wrong way. Seriously, we have cable. You're just passing through all of the sports channels,” Dave snatched the remote from him, guiding him back into regular programming before handing it back, “See? Not so hard after all.”

 

“Shut up kid. Not my fault ya grew up in the generation of technology,” Bro finally settled on an episode of Wipeout, watching the contestants fail with amusement while making a note to send in an application so that he could kick all of their asses. Not that he needed the money, but he wouldn't mind rubbing his skills in everyone's faces.

 

The two Striders sat in silence for a little while, occasionally smiling, or making an intelligent quip whenever someone epically failed. Dave cringed every now and again when someone seemed to have gotten seriously hurt, but he wound up laughing anyways. Luckily for them, a short marathon was running, and they spent the next couple of hours repeating this process. Occasionally, a nurse would come in to check on Dave, but otherwise they were left alone until a new nurse poked her head in, seeming worried, “Mister Strider?”

 

Bro figured that meant him and stood up, “Just chill for a bit li'l bro.” he wondered vaguely what was going on as she led him out into the hallway and shut the door, chewing on her lip nervously before she took a breath to collect herself.

 

“Sir, we just had another admission to the hospital-” she started.

 

“Cut the fluff shit and tell me what the fuck's going on,” Bro had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was going on, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions despite the gnawing anxiety that pressed at the back of his mind.

 

The nurse flushed at his use of language and stammered for a second before she managed to speak clearly, “The patient's name is Dirk sir. He says his last name is Strider and we weren't sure if he had any relation to-”

 

He cut her off again, “Take me to him. Now,” his voice took on a dangerous tone and the nurse quickly rushed him across the hospital.

 

She stopped in front of a shut door with a clipboard hanging off the side, “He was checked in a few hours ago in a horrendous state. Another young man was with him, but we had him wait in the sitting room since he isn't immediately related.”

 

Bro clenched his teeth together, “Can I go in?” when he got the affirmative, he opened the door, and stepped in. Dirk was laying there and Bro quickly shut the door in the nurse's face, going over to grab Dirk's hand, “God dammit kid, what'd you get yourself into this time...” a soft fall of footsteps suddenly entered the room and Bro looked up from the motionless boy before him, “If ya don't mind, I'd like some privacy with my little brother.”

 

“I...” that wasn't the nurse, “Mister Strider, I came to apologize for what happened I-” it was that buck-toothed prick that Dirk was after.

 

“Oh believe me kid, you're gonna be plenty sorry for what you've done by the time I'm done with ya.”

 


	10. The Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real. That's all there is to say on the matter. Trigger warning for a lot of gore and death in this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: Yes, I realize that Jake's flip in how he feels about Dirk is abrupt, but I promise that it will all be explained within the next chapter or two (I'm debating on whether or not to split up this last stretch of the story, but I should have it figured out soon). There is reasoning behind it, it's not just convenient for the plot and Dirk and Jake's relationship.

Normally, Dirk wasn't one to show emotion. He had grown up around poker-faced people his entire life and he had come to be one himself, but damn if he wasn't flaring with an absolute searing hatred unlike one anyone had ever seen before. Flames danced in his eyes as he approached the mansion, his shades still left inside the confining marble walls. It was obvious that there was an aura of fury about him and he wasn't about to let go of that hatred. The loathing itself was eating at him, a mixture of guilt and anger clawing their way inside of him as they fought for ultimate dominance over his emotions. Regardless of which one he felt more, he was going to dish up a hot, steamy dish of revenge and send it flying in the face of every asshole in that place. Oh yes, he was going after everyone there. Not just Jake. Sure, Jake was the main objective, but the “NPC's” were just as responsible for what happened to Dave as anything and Dirk had little to no control over what was going to happen next.

 

With that in mind, he strode up to the gate, scaling it with ease before dropping down and sliding out his sword from its respective sheathe on his back. He crouched low to the ground, hiding behind some bushes as he dashed through them until he spotted a couple of men walking down the sidewalk. He stopped, waiting until they were right in front of the plant he was hiding behind before he pounced. In one fluid motion, the two of them were dead on the sidewalk with no more sound than the thud as their bodies hit the ground. Dirk stood up, wiping the blood from his sword off on one of the suit jackets, and heading towards the mansion itself.

 

A boot to the door had the mahogany entrance wide open and he strode inside, casually stabbing the sword clean through one guy's middle before whirling around and slitting another's throat. Both of them collapsed and Dirk's eyes flashed as he caught a flicker of movement. Within a few seconds there was another body on the floor, but he didn't bother to pause to clean up his sword this time. With his goal in mind, he swept through the main floor of the mansion, leaving a mass of corpses in his wake with no thought to the possible repercussions that could have.

 

It was just his luck that someone managed to have enough strength to sound off the alarm, that made it easier for him to round up everyone that he needed to get rid of. Picking up a gun, he shot out the lights before climbing the stairs, and seating himself inside the large chandelier that decorated that lobby. It didn't take too long before men were rushing down the wide-swept stair-case, guns aiming down at the floor. Many of them shifted uneasily, cursing as they could barely see with only the moon-light coming in from the ginormous bay-windows to guide them. Of course, this made the perfect opportunity for Dirk to strike.

 

In one fluid motion, he was on the railing next to someone, and his sword was through the other's throat before he could make a sound. It didn't take too long for everyone else to notice their companion's fall, however, and soon bullets were being shot every which way. Meanwhile, Dirk had crept back to the safety of the chandelier, chuckling to himself as they practically slaughtered each other down to only a small handful of their previous ranks. It was then that he dropped down, tsking softly as he allowed the blade he held to glint in the pale-light, “Now gentlemen, I'd think that you'd be better prepared to handle a situation like this.”

 

Immediately, more bullets were shot off, but Dirk was swift, and came up behind two of them, knocking their heads against the railings roughly before launching off of the banister to stab his sword through another. The remaining few were dealt with in a similar manner and soon Dirk stood at the top of the stairs with blood on his clothes and all the way down the carpet of the stairs. He panted a little, wiping the blood from his cheek, and turning to make his way further into the manor. Hopefully, he had taken care of most of the goons in the joint, but he wasn't entirely sure of that. They would have to be pretty dumb to actually send their entire “army” after him, but he wouldn't be surprised if they had. There was a reason that they were only the cronies after all.

 

Sliding through doorway after doorway, he inspected every room that he came across (which was many). The second floor was clear, as well as the third, which left the fourth. He walked into the quiet, but well-lit hallway and immediately spotted a light pouring from underneath a door frame. He smirked to himself, figuring that only Jake would be dumb enough to keep a light on at this point in time. So, he advanced towards it, and grabbed the handle.

 

Unfortunately, he had missed the slight buzz of electricity, and he jolted as he touched it before collapsing into a small bit of spasms. Of course, he had been electrocuted before, and he'd run into his fair share of tazers, so he carefully got back up, but not before the door opened, and a large shadow was cast down over him. The blond barely had time to react before large, thick fingers curled into his hair, and yanked him up to his feet. He stabbed his sword into exceedingly muscled arm, but that barely did anything. It was as though he had stabbed a toothpick into a lion and it didn't take long before he was slammed up against the wall.

 

“Normally,” a gruff voice spoke as Dirk's face met the wall again and he found himself unable to see out of one eye, “I wouldn't have allowed you to even make it through the gate.” Another slam into the wall had Dirk's vision spinning, but this time he was pinned there, blood pouring down the side of his face as he fought to stay conscious, “But I needed to clear out my crew. They were pretty horrible lackeys.”

 

Dirk couldn't even form words as he began to fade in and out of a coherent state of being. He had long since dropped his sword, barely processing the sound of it clattering to floor. It seemed as though his fate were obvious, but he still didn't want to admit that, and strained against the large man's hold. Seeming to find it amusing, a loud chuckle emanated behind him, sending a vibration through his aching skull while he tried to blink the blood out of his eye.

 

His head was once more smacked against the green-tapestry of the wall and he began to lose the strength to keep it up. He groaned softly, only having time to see a splatter of red on top of the green, and he let out a small laugh as he thought of Christmas. Abruptly, he was staring at the floor instead, but he found it easier to just lie there rather than attempt to move, so he did. Something was babbling above him, but he didn't hear it, to interested in the fuzzy carpet beneath him to care before he passed out.

 

==> Be Jake English

 

Jake stood over the corpse of his father, shaking as he held the pistol that had done the deed in his hands. Oh god...oh god what he had done? He had just killed his father-his father of all people! And for what? To save the life of the man that had been trying to kill him?

 

He didn't quite understand what he was doing as he stepped over the body and knelt next to Dirk. There was a sufficient amount of blood next to his head and Jake slid off the jungle colored vest he was wearing to press it against Dirk's various head-wounds, “Dirk? Dammit Strider don't you dare be dead! If you've gone scampering off to the other side then I'm going to be in far worse shape than I thought...”

 

The lone English finally caved, scooping Dirk up into his arms, and standing. He staggered under his weight for a moment, but he managed to make his way to the elevator (like hell was he about to take four flights of stairs carrying that much weight!). He smashed his finger into the buttons multiple times, trying to get the silver doors to open so that he could slip inside. Finally, it dinged, and he stepped in, pressing the “L”. Soon enough, he was dipping down, and he braced himself so that he didn't wind up dropping Dirk. Poor bastard was mumbling while his head lolled around freely on Jake's arm. Damn, that was a nice white shirt that was getting scuffed up on the sleeve! Of course, that wasn't the time to be worrying about his appearance.

 

Rushing from the elevator, he got into the garage, and gingerly, but urgently, laid Dirk down on the back-seat of the car, “Please, please be okay,” he prayed, getting into the driver's seat, and shooting out of the area. He had ignored the various corpses scattered about the mansion at first, but it was catching up to him, and he forced himself not to vomit as he rushed Dirk to the E.R with no care for the various laws that he was inevitably breaking.

 

Thankfully, he didn't get pulled over, and he carried Dirk into the emergency room, pleading for help. It didn't take long before Dirk was being wheeled away and the events of the night finally came crashing down on him. First came the guilt from killing his father, then the adrenaline rushed away, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. He knelt on the ground there for a little while, panting lightly as he shakily reached up to pull the silvery trigger before watching the chunks get washed away in a miniature whirlpool.

 

Still trembling, he stood up, and went to the sink. He splashed his face with cold water before looking at his appearance. His hair was a wreck and there was blood all over his body (he was surprised no one had said anything). The normal care-free look in his eyes was gone, replaced with a vacant gaze that shocked Jake. He looked something akin to a reanimated corpse.

 

Letting a low shudder shake his body, he sighed softly, and walked out of the bathroom. A nurse came up, asking him to fill out paperwork for Dirk, and he sank into a seat-far away from everyone- to start filling it out. Once that was done, he passed the clip-board back, and rested his head back against the wall.

 

Good god, what had he just done?

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reasons for why Jake did what he did are more fully explained in this chapter and we'll be closing up the first installment in the next chapter!

==> Continue to be Jake

 

It wasn't as though you had switched points of view. Damn this author for trying to be thorough in keeping up with points of view in this story and distracting the reader from the actual story by rambling off about points of view in their story.

 

Jake sighed as he reflected on what had gone down at the manor. In all truth, he had likely acted rashly, but what else was he supposed to do? He was scared and he never wanted anyone to actually die. That was the biggest problem that he had, he never wanted to kill anyone. Sure, he'd smack them around a bit, a good round of fisticuffs was good for everyone in his opinion, but to kill anyone was simply mind-boggling to the poor heir and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.

 

Of course, he had been bickering with Dirk, and he had shown up unannounced at the blond's apartment, but the apartment bit wasn't of his own doing. Once his father found out that Dirk had escaped Jake was handed the shortest end of the stick. Shouting about having a useless heir, Jake was forced to act as the distraction while Crowbar, his once trust body-guard, held a gun to his back. After the other members had begun entering, he'd panicked, and fled since he'd figured that the Striders would blame him for the assault on their home.

 

He didn't have anywhere to go but home, but he still had a short while before he could get there. One of his trust pistols was still in its holster as he trudged through the streets to get there. He kept his head ducked, ignoring the few cars that passed by until one nearly knocked him off his feet. Looking up, he caught a brief glimpse of spiky-hair before the car whipped around a corner, and Jake got a sinking feeling in his gut. Immediately, he broke into a run, and followed the path of the car which stopped a few blocks away from his child-hood home.

 

By the time that he had caught up with it, it was empty, and Jake coughed to clear his lungs before straightening up. He had swallowed thickly, rushing in after the deadly massacre that Dirk had left in his wake. There was no doubt in his mind that the orange-eyed fellow he had only hours ago been interrogating was enacting his revenge on the English household.

 

However, when he heard a loud and sickening sound from one of the upper floors, his stomach clenched. There was no way that Dirk could handle Lord English by himself. It was on the third floor that Jake had started to face his dilemma. Did he really want the man that was trying to kill him alive? Did he want to live with the guilt over the fact that Dirk's family was likely suffering because of him? Even though the rational side of him reasoned that it wasn't his fault, his father had ordered the attack, the emotional part pushed forward, insisting that he take some of the blame onto his own shoulders.

 

Finally, he just raced up the stairs, and stood frozen as he saw the unfortunate situation before him. Dirk was bleeding heavily, the walls were already stained, and Jake's father stood grinning. The look on his face made Jake's decision more simple as his mind cleared and he swept his pistol out of his pocket before shooting the man that had made his life a living hell.

 

Both parties fell to the floor and the rest was what had gotten him in the waiting room at the hospital.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts as a nurse approached him, seeming concerned as she explained that there was another Strider checked into the hospital before asking if he knew if there had been multiple incidents with the family that night. Jake hesitated briefly before shaking his head, saying that hadn't the foggiest clue as to whether or not they had been caught up in the same ordeal only in separate conditions (he had said that he and Dirk were hiking when Dirk fell from a cliff and bonked his head). Nodding, the nurse went to check on the other Strider, and Jake chewed nervously on his lower lip.

 

Eventually, he saw her leading a broad-shoulder fellow down the hallway, and Jake hesitated before standing up to follow them. He waited for the nurse to return to her station before he went to the room and rested his hand on the door-knob. There was slight movement in the room and he fought with himself for a moment before he forced himself to open the door. He had to explain what was happening to the oldest brother...he deserved to know.

 

No sooner had he opened the door and said a couple of words for apology, he was pressed up against the door by his throat. A thickly muslced forearm held his struggling form in place as he gasped for air and gripped the arm tightly, “P-Please sir, l-let me explain! I-I wouldn't have brought him here had I wanted h-him deceased!” Jake pleaded, his words breathy and spaced out.

 

The man glared at him in the darkness, but the force of his hold lessened enough for Jake to breath (albeit barely), “You've got about two minutes to give me a damn good explanation as to why your funky-sounding ass got two of my brothers shoved into the hospital.”

 

“I didn't ever intend for anything like this to occur tonight. At the apartment I was forced in as a distraction seeing as my father wasn't all to pleased with my allowing Dirk to leave. Then Dirk showed up to the manor and killed everyone inside, but you've got to understand that my father is not one to be messed with! It's not an easy effort trying to kill him and...well Dirk got hurt because he attempted. I got there shortly after most of the damage was done and shot my bastard of a parent before bringing him here. Just...golly-gracious just don't hurt me please! I'll do whatever I can to help, I'll foot the hospital bills and everything!” Jake cringed, almost seeming to expect some sort of blow to come smashing down on his face.

 

However, none came, and he found himself being lowered back to his feet, “I'll be checkin' with Dirk on some of that information, but for now I'll believe ya,” there was a dangerous edge to the other man's tone, but he stepped away from Jake, and went back to sit by Dirk's side. There was a brief silence before Dirk's older brother spoke, “What made ya decide to save Dirk? Thought he was supposed to be killin' you.”

 

Jake swallowed, nodding slowly, “He was, but...I simply couldn't stand aside and watch my father murder someone. I may have ruffled Dirk's feathers a bit, but I never would have intentionally caused him this much harm. Besides, I was under orders when I was doing so. Regardless of that, however, I found him somewhat endearing. He really isn't all that bad of a fellow and I believe he wasn't all into the job. At least, not until the raid occurred. Which I am deeply sorry for. I hope none of you were to seriously injured.”

 

The man scoffed, “Dave got a bullet to the side, but he'll live. Nothin' happened to me and Dirk was fine 'til he went bargin' into your place like a moron.”

 

“He was simply trying to avenge his family from what I can tell,” Jake said after a moment, looking at Dirk's still figure. His head was wrapped in bandages and various machines clogged the room as the hospital had rushed to make sure that he would live. A twinge of pity tugged at Jake's heart and he bit his lip, “I'll...leave you to him. I'm sure you'd like to spend some time with him.”

 

The other nodded, “Yeah, that'd be nice. And...Thanks kid. You didn't have to do that. I'm just glad that I didn't have to see another brother pass.”

 

Jake nearly asked why, but held his tongue, and simply exited the room. He went back to the waiting room, making sure that all the billing information for the Striders was paid for with his card before he left the hospital. He got back into his car, sitting at the wheel before he numbly realized that he didn't really have anywhere to go. Home was filled with corpses and he wasn't exactly itching to go back to the giant mess of death that was there.

 

Sighing, he simply found a hotel near the hospital and booked a room before settling in for the night. He tossed and turned before exhaustion took him and he prayed that Dirk would be alright. He couldn't be sure that the other wouldn't be irreparably damaged from what Jake's father had done so he could only hope that everything would be okay.

 


	12. Amnesia, Abduction, and Absolute Hatred of the English Blood-Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This sounds like a porn title, but no porn in this chapter. Sorry for all you smut-lovers out there. I promise there will eventually be smut.
> 
> Anyways, final chapter for part one of the Heart Assassin series. I'm probably going to leave this for a little while, but I'll pick it up by January I think. Just depends on how things go. Thanks for reading!

Slowly, Dirk opened his eyes. The curtains were drawn, but the buzzing light above him caused slight irritation to his pupils as he squinted up at it. He glanced at the window, placing the time to be early morning, and started to sit up, only for a sharp pain in his head and through his chest to explode through him. He inhaled sharply, falling back against the pillows as he forced himself to relax again. He took a couple of breaths, realizing that he wasn't in some hotel, and that everything hurt like hell.

 

In reality, it probably hurt worse than he realized. He was hooked up to painkillers, but the doctors were trying to wean him off of it so that he didn't wind up becoming a morphine addict. Of course, he didn't know that, and, even if he did, he was too busy trying to remember why he was in a hospital and why his head hurt so bad. Vague recollections of his revenge run and his run-in with Lord English came flashing back to him and he shuddered a little, amazed that he was even still alive. He couldn't quite remember why. Had Lord English simply decided to try to knock him unconscious and then just leave him there while he hoofed it out of town? Dirk couldn't remember.

 

He furrowed his eyebrows together, looking at the snoozing figure on the couch next to him. Damn, that dude was snoring so loud. He surpressed a groan, laying back against the pillows as he tried to sort through his muddled thoughts. Something was wrong aside from the pain aching through his body, he knew there had to be, but what could it be? He didn't seem to be incapable of any motory skills and he was processing visual and audio cues normally, but something still seemed off to him. He just wasn't sure how to describe it.

 

As he was thinking things over, the door opened, and someone stepped inside. Dirk stared blankly at the man standing before him, wondering why this stranger was bringing him flowers. The other walked over to the bed, setting the flowers on the stand next to him as he smiled brightly, “Good to see you up and at 'em chum,” he spoke as though they were best friends, but he kept his voice low. Dirk followed his emerald gaze, realizing that he probably didn't want to wake whoever was sleeping on the couch, “I hope you don't mind that I brought you some flowers. There was going to be a get-well soon card, but I slipped and slim-slammed my way down into a puddle so it got a little mussed up. I figured the tulips and dandelions would serve just as well.”

 

Dirk opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. He was still puzzled over why this person was bringing him flowers. Hell, he barely remembered how he made it to the hospital, or why he was even at that mansion in the first place. It was as though someone had given him a one-billion piece puzzle and expected him to put it back together again. There was only so much he could do before his head began to throb and he groaned softly.

 

“Father did do a number of damage on you, didn't he?” the brunette tsked softly, moving his hand to rest on the blond's head, “Well, no need to worry about that anymore. He's long taken care of and neither of us has got to be concerned with that man any longer.”

 

“Who are you?” he finally asked, able to locate his vocal chords as he forced them to function once more.

 

He smiled in a friendly manner, dropping his hand to rest on Dirk's as he patted it fondly, “It'll come back to you in time Dirk, don't worry. My name is Jake English. You've suffered a severe blow to the head and I believe it's accompanied by slight amnesia. I know this is all strange, but I'm a friend, I promise.”

 

“Oh,” Dirk relaxed a little, finding himself able to do so in the presence of this charming stranger. Amnesia did make sense considering he was failing to recollect any memories. Maybe that was the something that was wrong with him. It would fit as an explanation for the thing that was bugging him so badly.

 

“Listen Dirk,” Jake took hold of his hand, “I've got permission to get you out of this hospital, alright? I'm going to get you somewhere safe and secure until you're fully better. In the meantime, we'll try to help you regain some of your memories. As you can tell, you've been unhooked from all of the machines, and you're set to go. However, I need you to stay quiet, alright?”

 

Orange eyes narrowed slightly, but he slowly nodded, deciding to trust Jake for the time being, “Why do I have to be quiet? I thought I was allowed to go?”

 

Jake gestured to the sleeping man, “I didn't want to disturb him. He was your permanent nurse that was stationed in here is all. Poor fellow didn't get much rest trying to make sure that you stayed alive.”

 

“Shouldn't I at least thank him for taking care of me?” Dirk frowned, sitting up in the bed, and only faintly wincing at the protest from his chest, “I mean, he obviously sacrificed a lot of sleep for me. I wouldn't feel right just leaving him here without saying something.”

 

“Trust me Dirk, he'll know that you're thankful for his services,” the other man promised, moving away briefly before bringing in a wheelchair, “Now, let me help you get in this,” he added, scooping Dirk up easily, and carefully depositing him in the chair, “there we are.”

 

The spiky-haired man glanced back at the sleeping figure, but shrugged, figuring that he had probably already said thank you without remembering it. He felt somewhat embarrassed when Jake picked him up, but that was nothing compared to the horror of his body. He had shrunk, his muscles were fading, leaving him more skin-and-bone than the fit-and-tone that he had been before. Immediately, he wanted to do something to fix that, but even the movement to get into the wheelchair had caused him an immense amount of pain, and he wasn't about to repeat the process again.

 

Jake smiled at him before moving the wheelchair and beginning to move it out of the room. The door shut softly behind them and the two of them moved silently through the sterile halls of the hospital. Dirk eventually had to close his eyes as the sight of his surroundings began to make his head swim. Part of him wondered if he really was supposed to be leaving the hospital, but he pushed that thought away. Jake seemed nice enough and, besides, how was he supposed to know any better? He had little to no idea as to what even happened to him when he got whacked upside the head.

 

The two of them made their way into the parking lot, where Jake calmly picked Dirk up, and set him inside of the car. He pecked Dirk's cheek, causing the other to blush faintly. Where the hell had that random affection come from? He didn't remember Jake saying anything about a relationship between the two of them (other than that they knew each other). Not to mention that fact that he was completely and utterly okay with Jake smooching him other places if he wanted.

 

Regardless, he sat back in the seat, and managed to pass out not too long after they started driving. This was completely okay with Jake who hummed softly under his breath as he drove away, prepping himself for a couple of hours of doing so in order to get to where the two of them needed to go. Somewhere isolated, remote, and completely cut off from any human interaction whatsoever.

 

==> Be Bro

 

You are now a devastated big brother.

 

Bro sat on the bed, shoulders hunched as hot, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. The hospital had promised that everything would be okay, but it wasn't. He woke up to find the bouquet of flowers, with a little note attached to it. It took him approximately one second to realize Dirk was gone and another half of one to realize what that likely meant. Something akin to a stone settled in his gut and his hands were shaking as he picked up the note to read it.

 

Complete and utter grief wracked him as the ' _Sorry for your loss_ ' beamed up at him like some sort of sadistic messenger of death. He'd sunken down onto the bed, pressing his face into his hands as he found himself mourning the death of another brother. Only this one wasn't older. This one wasn't caught up in government conspiracies. This one wasn't supposed to die before Bro did. It was a cruel, cruel world to force a guardian to outlive their charge.

 

One doctor came in to give him the bill and to pass on his condolences. He assured Bro that Dirk had died peacefully and that it had been caused by brain trauma that had seemed insignificant, but had had a great impact on Dirk's final days in his coma-like state.

 

Meanwhile, Bro felt like shit. He hadn't even been awake when his brother had passed. He hadn't even been there to ease Dirk's passing. He hadn't even been there to protect his little bro for the second time in two days. Sure, it was a different brother, but the impact of that thought was enough to cause his breath to stutter and falter.

 

Finally, he just sat numbly. The note was crumpled up in his hand and he started to wonder as to how he was supposed to break the news to Dave. How was he supposed to tell the younger Strider that Dirk was...

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he kept his face in his hands, biting his lip before he forced his uncooperative body to stand up. It was better for Dave to know. The two of them could grieve and move on together, but first Bro had to hide the fact that he had been crying so thank god for shades. Poor kid was going to need someone to look up too and like hell was Bro going to let the lil man think that he was anything but tough and steel-like when it came to this sort of thing. He couldn't break down, Dave would probably be clingier than ever, and he needed to be there for him.

 

Slowly, he made his way to Dave's room. He had been recovering pretty well and was almost ready to leave the hospital. Bro stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him before he walked up to Dave's sleeping figure. The sight made his heart ache. He hated to wake the kid up and break the news to him, but he needed to get it out before his emotions exploded wide open again. Slowly, he reached out to shake Dave's shoulder, “Dave. Kid, wake up. I...I've got somethin' to tell ya.”

 

The messy-haired blond grumbled slightly, annoyed that he was being awoken before noon, and squinted at Bro, “What do you want Bro? It's too early for this. I need my beauty sleep, it's only ten-thirty! I'm losing out half-an-hour of-”

 

“Dirk's dead.”

 

Silence. Nothing but complete and utter silence. Only the sound of the heart-monitor could be heard as Dave tried to comprehend what Bro had just said, “W-what?”

 

“He's dead kid, he...he died while we were sleepin',” he fought back more tears, swallowing the lump in his throat as he sat down next to Dave, and watched the other for any sort of reaction. Unfortunately, it just looked like he'd gone into shock.

 

“But he...he was doing so good...” Dave, for once, seemed to be at a loss for words. Abruptly, his entire demeanor seemed to crumple and his face distorted as he let out a sob. Immediately, he was covering his mouth with his hand, his cries of anguish shaking his body as Bro slowly drew the other in to hold him closer. Bro hushed him, gently stroking Dave's hair as he tried to comfort the poor soul. Kid was going to be heartbroken for awhile and Bro was going to help him through it to the best of his ability.

 

“I'm so sorry kid,” he said softly and, for a moment, he wasn't sure if he was talking to Dave or Dirk. Maybe it was both.

 

Dave turned into Bro's hold, his fingers gripping into Bro's shirt as he left tear-stains and snot-trails on the white polo. The older didn't care and just let the youngest Strider get out his grief. Meanwhile, Bro brushed his own tears away, glad that he had his shades to cover up the blood-shot eyes that hid beneath them. What the hell was he supposed to do now? It was the Hollywood incident all over again, but somehow worse. Was it the fact that Dirk was supposed to make it? What had gone wrong overnight? Things had been some promising, it just didn't make sense.

 

A knock came from the door and an officer stepped inside, “Mister Strider?”

 

“Yeah?” both brothers responded, looking towards her. Dave just seemed distraught, Bro looked somewhat pissed that they had been interrupted in their grieving stage.

 

“I see you received the 'news',” she brought up quotation marks around the last word, fumbling for a second before she shut the door behind her. Moving forward, she swung a cane around before she stopped near the center of the room, “I'll be the one to let you know that Dirk is alive. The news of his death was a set-up to throw you off of his trail.”

 

Relief immediately swept through both Striders, but soon Bro got an inkling feeling of dread, “Then where is he? And why did the hospital pretend that he was dead? That doesn't make any sense. Look, if this is some sort of fuckin' prank I swear to god I'll-”

 

She flashed him a badge labeled 'F.B.I' and that got him to shut up, “My name is Terezi Pyrope, but you can address me as agent Pyrope. I was Dirk Strider's overseer and my job was to see that he did his. Obviously, there were some complications in things, but I'm still supposed to see to it that Jake English is killed at the hand of Dirk Strider.”

 

Bro scowled at her insensitivity, but she obviously couldn't see it, “Are you just going to ramble on about the kid's job or are ya actually goin' to help us get our brother back?”

 

Her nostrils flared slightly and she seemed to straighten her back more as she rested her hands daintily on her cane, “I'll help you get him back, but there will be several problems that go along with that.

 

“The first one is that he's suffering a severe case of amnesia or memory loss. The second is that the remaining English heir is going to use this to his advantage to manipulate Dirk into believing whatever he says. Why he hasn't just killed Dirk, I don't know, but he seems to want him alive for some reason. We also have reason to believe that his killing his father was planned in advance between him and Lord English. Perhaps it was a scheme involving Dirk for whatever reason or it could have to do with something completely different. I can't say for sure what all is going on, but I do know that we can find Dirk. It's just a matter of finding Jake.”

 

That little bastard, “Bastard! Dammit, do we have any idea of where they are?”

 

“Not at the moment, no, but we're tracking the two of them as best as we can,” she assured him, looking in his general direction with a look similar to sympathy. At least, as sympathetic as she could look with solid-red glasses perched on her nose, “we'll let you two know if something comes up. Until then, go home. Your apartment should be relatively safe. It isn't up to normal health-code standards, but the federal and state governments have decided to just leave it be. Still, be careful. We will have agents on the two of you in case Jake gets worried about you two being alive and I'm aware that you're both also skilled in various forms of combat. That makes my life so much easier.

 

“Other than that, the rest of this will be left to the F.B.I. We'll find him Mister Strider, I promise we will,” without another word or pause, she turned on heel, and walked out of that room.

 

And that was the moment that Bro Strider knew that he couldn't just go home. Oh no, he was going to find that goofy asshole and make sure that he paid for hurting his brother. This time, when he pinned him to the wall, it was going to be with shruikens and swords, and he wasn't going to pull them out unless he wanted Jake to bleed to death.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this is just this weird AU thing I came up with I guess. It's really fun too write and I have five chapters done (almost six) so I'll try to upload those quickly!!!


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